Between Our Eyes

Hi. Don't tinker with that screen
where your eyes have been.
Not sure you follow? Notice how many stops
and crossings I have taken you. You
have come this far. I like you
just being here.

I wish you can see me
from a superzoom's viewpoint.
Don't take for granted visual limits
or find yourself crossing to the blurred.
I tweak the control buttons to see
your smiles, round eyes,
and long, eye lashes. Then, I snap.

Viewers would later notice
how you enjoyed my attention,
how pretty you were from their screens,
wishing with their own cameras,
snap that way.

Don't worry. I won't disclose
the secret we keep between our eyes.

Appraisal

It seems to be in the nature of things
to be viewed at, gaped, then dismissed,
when treated like an artifact, on display, hanging
on a walk-way like a sign, mutual, visual
interactions reduced to the quick, transactional.

But I am your difference after taking out
the value of my visual attributes, or whatever
is left from your reductions. Do I owe you residuals
every time you peer into my features,
watching shifts in my color or lines?

I am neither an artifact nor your entertainment.
I don’t intend to keep hanging on walls.

Just Checking

Whenever I recall a need to check you out,
I turn and shift my gaze in your direction,
a reflex you imprinted with every sound bite

from the pitch of your laughter,
the shuffling of your shoes on the carpet,
to the heavy thud of your bag on the desk.

How does one unlearn the associations,
flush out from consciousness the residue
of formerly familiar pleasures?

When will I stop checking you out
in spaces you quietly abandoned,
and accept the absence that settled there?